The Cat Came Back
by alyells
Summary: Harry Potter needed a friend more than anything. Little did he know, he'd find one in a very unusual place. NOT MM/HP at all


**The Cat Came Back**

**Summary: **Harry Potter needed a friend more than anything. Little did he know, he'd find it in a very unusual place. NOT MM/HP at all.

Harry Potter was six years old. He didn't know much about life; all he knew was that when he was very, very little, his mum and dad had both been killed in a car crash, and that was where he got his scar. He knew that he lived with his Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petunia because Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He knew that his cousin, Dudley, got treated much better by his aunt and uncle than he did. And he knew he was different.

Harry didn't know why, but on occasions, he made things happen that he couldn't explain. When he was angry or scared, he could hide himself away where no one could find him, or make in impossible for his Uncle Vernon to touch him without being burned. This 'funny business', as his uncle called it, caused him to be shut up in the cupboard under the stairs where he slept for days on end, with very little to eat.

This particular day was a bright, sunny one in October. Harry was sitting on the immaculate, perfect front lawn of well kept, gorgeous Number Four, Privet Drive, rolling a rubber ball around on the grass. The sleeves of his wooly, faded, oversized yellow jumper that had once belonged to his massive cousin were rolled up seven times, and it still fell down around his wrists when he'd reach for the ball. But Harry didn't care; he was quite content just to sit in the warm fall sun, looking at the leaves that were turning his favourite colours, red and gold. He blinked his emerald green eyes and smiled.

Just at the edge of the lawn, lying on the curb, was a grey-black tabby cat with square markings around its eyes. The cat spent a lot of time around Privet Drive, and Harry had gotten quite friendly with it. The cat had a very warm, kindly nature, but if Harry ever handled it too roughly or tried to pull its ears or tail, the cat would hiss at him, and stalk off to be alone for a few minutes. It would always remain in sight, though, so Harry never felt like it had abandoned him. It would glare at him from across the street and return moments later to play again. He was four when he first started playing with the cat, and he did so frequently. The cat always came back.

Harry picked up his rubber ball and got to his feet. He walked to the curb and sat on the road next to the cat, which looked up at him with lamp-like eyes. He smiled down at it, and it gave him the impression of smiling back. He patted the cat on the head gently, as he had learned to do, and it licked his hand with its rough pink tongue in an affectionate way. It was the most affection Harry every got.

He rolled the ball around on the asphalt, and the cat's yellow eyes followed the pattern from one of Harry's chubby hands to the other, back and forth, back and forth. She batted at it with her paw, and stretched out lazily in the dust, rolling around on her back. For some time, they just sat there, cat and boy, enjoying the beautiful autumn afternoon. The cat finally got up on all fours and walked gracefully across Harry's legs, tickling his nose with her tail. The boy giggled and stroked her arched back.

Since he could remember the cat being around, Harry had confided his problems and worries to her; as much of the problems and worries a six year old boy could have, that is. She always appeared to be listening, and looking out for him. Even during the night, if Harry woke after having a nightmare ending a flash of green light and a high-pitched scream, he merely need to call out for the cat, and she'd appear outside on the sidewalk, and he could whisper his bad dream to her through the window, like the mother he had always longed for. He could never go to his aunt and uncle's room in the middle of the night; he hadn't any idea what they'd do if he told them about his dream.

Harry had assumed that the cat was a female; it was extremely affectionate, but moody at times. He was used to this after living with his Aunt Petunia, minus the affection part, of course. However, mood swings aside, the cat was a reassuring presence in his dull life in Privet Drive, and he was happy to have her around. Even when she left at the end of the afternoon that sunny October day, the sky blazing red, promising another perfect day tomorrow, Harry knew that she'd be back. The cat always came back.

*

Harry Potter was eleven years old. Moments ago, he had returned from shopping with Hagrid, the enormous game keeper at his new school, Hogwarts. When he arrived in Privet Drive for the last two weeks of the summer holidays, he remained on the lawn outside the house. And just as it always had been, the cat came back.

She stalked over to where Harry stood, weaving her slim body in and out of his legs and purring happily. He wondered if she already knew his good news, if she was happy for him; of course not, she was a cat! But something about the way she stared up at him, with what looked like pride in her yellow lioness eyes, gave Harry the feeling that she was congratulating him. He confided in her anyway, telling her about his shopping trip, how much he liked Hagrid, and how excited he was to be going to Hogwarts. He even mentioned Professor McGonagall's letter, and she nuzzled his neck when he told her how much he wanted to meet her, his first contact to the wizarding world.

As the sun set on yet another beautiful day over London, Harry and the cat sat on the front stoop of the house he had called home for the past eleven years. He couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts; the only thing he wasn't looking forward to was leaving his companion behind. But he wasn't worried; he knew that when he returned to Privet Drive next summer, the cat would come back.

*

The strange thing about patterns is that sometimes they change. When Harry Potter was twelve years old, the cat no longer came back to Privet Drive. A certain part of Harry's heart felt as though he had been abandoned again by someone who he loved dearly. Like his mother and father, Harry had no control over when this special friend would leave him. His friend's hadn't written him all summer, and his cat wasn't returning to spend time with him.

But on the other hand, Harry had a feeling he knew exactly who would take the place of his feline friend. When Harry had arrived at school for his first year, Professor McGonagall had transformed into the exact same cat in his first Transfiguration lesson. She had the same square markings around the same lamp-like yellow eyes set in the same grey-black fur. Everyone had been shocked and impressed, but Harry's stomach had given a lurch. The cat winked at him from her position on the desk, and had quickly transformed back into a sharp-looking woman with a tight, grey-black bun and square spectacles.

Harry was hurt when he realized that his companion would no longer be returning to spend the lonely summer days with him, relaxing on the lawn and strolling around Surrey. The protection and comfort he had always felt, knowing the cat would come back to see him every day was gone; he was completely alone, until his friend, Ron Weasley, came and picked him up. He spent the summer at the Weasley's house, and had never felt more content with himself. The longing to see the mysterious vanishing cat was gone. Harry, at last, was happy.

*

Just before Harry was thirteen, he returned to Privet Drive for the summer yet again. After a grueling year, Harry longed to hear the comforting purr of the cat he had lovingly nicknamed 'Minnie' in his head, to feel her soft grayish fur under his hands, even to get a reproachful stare when he said something inappropriate. However, Minnie did not return again that summer. He spent it alone, wandering the streets by himself this time, not really having much to do at all. Except think.

Harry spent a lot of time thinking. He thought about school, his friends, and his teachers, but mostly, he thought about his parents. He was beginning to forget what they looked like. Time seemed to erase his memories of them, not that he had really remembered much. His mother's soft touch and flowery smell, his father's warm laugh and twinkling eyes; all of it was just a picture in a frame now. He longed for the carefree days of his early childhood when he knew nothing at all about them. But more than anything, he longed to see them, to hear them, to touch them one more time.

Harry's heavy heart lightening considerably when he got another letter from Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts, with an enclosed permission form for Hogsmeade weekend trips during the school year, which he looked forward to very much. He blew his chances, however, when he blew up his aunt, and made an escape back into his own world of Diagon Alley to stay for the remainder of the summer holidays.

While Harry roamed the wizarding streets of London, he found himself pulled to the Magical Menagerie, which contained cats of every size, shape and colour. Though he searched plenty of times, he couldn't find one who looked anything like his Minnie. It was times when he inspected the kittens that he felt a pang of loss for her and his parents; none of them would fill the whole in his heart. His cat hadn't come back.

*

At fourteen years of age, Harry Potter had nothing more to look forward to than going back to school. He spent the majority of his time terrorizing his cousin, Dudley, because he needed someone to take his anger out on. Harry still walked the streets of Little Whinging, not really caring for much. He no longer expected to see his old friend Minnie, no more than he expected to see his parents.

When the chance to go to the Quidditch World Cup arrived, Harry jumped at the chance. He'd get to spend more time with his best friends and keep his mind of the events of the past year; not to mention, it was Quidditch, his favourite sport in the world. When the letter arrived, Harry packed up his things and took off after a brief incident with the boarded-up fire place and the Floo Network.

Even after a run-in with a bunch of Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic, Harry had to admit that his summer was fantastic, for the first time he could remember. He spent the rest of the holidays at his second favourite place in the world, The Burrow, with his favourite people. He didn't even have time to think of Minnie and his parents while running about, purchasing his school things and having a good time with the Weasleys and Hermione. Going back to school with his two friends at his side was exhilarating.

When Harry, Hermione and the Weasley crew got onto Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station, it was a bittersweet end to a wondering summer. Mrs Weasley hugged and kissed him, just as she had with her own son, and just like when she had done it the year before, he felt a lump rise in his throat. He so wished it was his _own_ mother kissing him good bye and hurrying him onto the train. He had never felt more accepted, but at the same time, he had never felt more of an outcast. Parentless, orphaned Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, as always.

*

Just when Harry thought he couldn't take any more loss, just before he turned fifteen, he witnessed the death of Cedric Diggory, one of his schoolmates. He hadn't known Diggory well, but even seeing the death of a stranger was hard on a person. Competition had been the only thing on his mind, then fighting for his life. He hadn't time to mourn Cedric until he returned to Little Whinging.

After four years of spending the summer wishing he could see her, just when Harry had pushed the thought of Minnie from his mind did she show up. He didn't question why, of course, because he knew he wouldn't get an answer, but took the cat into his arms and buried his face in her fur, which had become a little greyer over the years. He sat on the front porch of Number Four and cradled her in his arms, sobbing for the first time in a while; for Cedric, for his Mum and Dad, and for her. She licked his face with her pink tongue, cleaning away the salty tears that had begun to fall down his cheeks. Her small, warm body was comforting as it had always been, and though she probably knew already, he began to tell her the tale of Cedric Diggory.

The cat sat in his lap and watched him unblinkingly with her familiar lamp-like eyes. She cocked her head slightly to the right and continued to stare, taking in every word he was saying. Only when he had run out of things to say did she move to curl up on his knees. He stroked her soft coat, which was still damp from his tears, and wiped at his eyes with his other hand.

Harry figured the last time he had cried had been over Cedric's dead body. He remembered clutching to the other boy's robes, not wanting to let go, thinking if he could just hold on tight enough, he could bring back the freshly taken life. He had screamed and screamed, thinking through his anguish that the people who had said expressing emotions helped lessen them had never watched a friend die. His hand stopped rubbing Minnie's back and she breathed deeply. At last, the cat had come back.

*

Harry's sixteenth birthday had finally arrived. He spent it grieving for the godfather he'd never gotten to spend enough time with. The list of deaths Harry wished he could have prevented kept on increasing. The grief on his shoulders was literally weighing him down, so he felt stooped when he walked. He was waiting anxiously for his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, to come and retrieve him from the hell-hole he called home.

Staring out the window on the cool July night, his forehead pressed to the damp glass to relieve the burning in his scar, Harry noticed a cat walking purposefully towards his garden. He watched, wondering if it could be Minnie he was watching. He shook the thought physically from his head and turned to the mess that was his room.

He hadn't wanted to pack up his things, in fear of being let down yet again. His trunk was lying open on the floor, a mishmash of broken quills, crumpled parchment, and odd socks littering the bottom. Every now and then, Harry had gotten the urge to finish putting the things in his trunk, so a few spellbooks, his Invisibility Cloak and an extra pair of trainers was lying atop the mess. Harry tossed a Chocolate Frog into the pile of rubbish and looked back out the window.

He picked up a piece of glass in a frame from his desk, the two-way mirror Sirius had given him just before he died. Earlier that night, he had had his bubble of hope popped mercilessly when he had tried to summon his godfather through the mirror. Harry resisted the urge to try again, and instead, threw the mirror at the floor. It smashed into tiny pieces, and he regretted his idiocy immediately. The only thing Sirius had ever given him and it was ruined. He picked up the largest piece of glass from the floor and held it in his hand, not caring if it cut him.

He looked out the window again, and a figure in a sweeping cloak with a long, grey beard and matching hair was heading up the walk. The cat followed him silently, mere steps behind him, and looked up to Harry's bedroom window. She gave him a look that was the cat-equivalent of a consoling gesture, and he smiled slightly. The cat came back, yet again.

*

Harry had returned to Privet Drive for the last time just before he turned seventeen. He looked around his room, noticing that it hadn't changed at all since he was allowed to move into it, except for the piles of books that were in the corner. He was deciding what to take and what not to take when he went on the mission Dumbledore had left for him.

He physically flinched when he thought on the name. This time last summer, Dumbledore had been coming to collect him from Privet Drive, looking quite healthy save the blacked, shriveled right hand. Now, his mentor, his friend, his teacher, was gone, just like everyone else he had ever loved and cared for. Harry could count on one hand the number of people who died because he'd loved them too much. He could count on two the number who remained.

He felt it was his fault that they were dead. He told himself over and over again that if he hadn't meddled, if he hadn't been around, if he hadn't needed to play the hero again, that Sirius, Cedric, his mum and dad, and now Dumbledore, wouldn't be gone forever. That's why he had ended it with Ginny; she had understood that he couldn't love anyone too much and have them end up dead again. Guilt-riddled, Harry continued to unpack his trunk and throw out the rubbish he had never properly cleaned out.

After nearly two hours of steady cleaning and four trips to the medicine cabinet for antiseptic and bandages, Harry decided it was time for a break. He sighed deeply and headed for the stairs down the hall. He needed fresh air to clear his head.

When he stepped outside, the evening was cool for summer. He welcomed the chill that crept up his spine and the back of his neck; it woke him up from the mournful slumber he had been in since Dumbledore's death. Across the street, a familiar shape stalked under a street lamp, illuminating a tabby cat. Harry's heart leapt; it was Minnie.

He hurried down the steps and onto the curb where they had met thirteen years before for the first time. He knelt down next to her, and she rubbed her back against his legs. He stroked her repeatedly, needing the contact more than ever. His old friend was finally here; perhaps this would be the last time he would see her. His eyes burned with tears.

After thirteen years of constant companionship, Minnie was still faithful. Though they were both older and wiser, she greyer and he worldlier, they both still craved each other. Harry's eyes watered as he stared down at the cat, noticing that her hips were swollen with age. She licked his hand a couple of times, wove around his leg one last time, and strolled off down the road. Harry straightened up, cleared his throat, and went back into the house. He sighed; the cat came back.

*

It had been some time since Harry had though on Minnie. However, when the post came with the handsome Great Horned Owl that morning, his mind took him back more than twenty five years. He realized now that he had known the truth all along; Minnie had always been Professor McGonagall, he had just never admitted it to himself. She had watched him, listened to him, given him a shoulder to cry on and kept him in line all those lonely summers in Privet Drive. Never once had she revealed herself, and at times he wished she had. But, on the whole, he agreed with her decision to let him figure it out by himself.

After the Final Battle, Harry had returned to Hogwarts one last time, to pay Minerva McGonagall a visit. After a brief hug and the familiar offering of a ginger newt (which Harry declined, as usual) he asked her the question that had been burning at the surface of his brain for seven long years; had it been her all along?

The answer, of course, was yes. McGonagall was much more willing to discuss her constant watch of Harry now that he wasn't a student of hers any longer. She admitted to enjoying the attention just as much as he had. He told her just how much it meant to him, to have her there through the toughest times in his life, with out her _really_ being there.

The hoot of the owl inside his window brought Harry back to reality. He thanked it, fed it an Owl Nut, and it flew out the window again. Harry unrolled the parchment scroll and read the straight, neat handwriting inside.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_It's been quite awhile since our last correspondence. My fault, I assure you. I've been busy lately with the school and the Order, as you're well aware, being a member yourself. We never quite get to see as much of each other as I'd like._

_However, in response to your last letter, I'm quite well, thank you. My hips are much better, thanks to that wonderful Muggle remedy of Ms Grangers. Rather, Mrs Weasley's. I feel absolutely fit, thank you for your concern._

_I hope you, Ginevra, Albus, James and Lily are all well. Give them my regards, and I'll see you soon. Dinner on Sunday sounds wonderful._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry smiled at the familiar title at the foot of the letter. He was so pleased that McGonagall was still going strong, never backing down and relinquishing her rightful spot at head of the school. He admired her for that, among other things.

He sat to the kitchen table of the small, comfortable cottage that his family resided in, and with a flick of his wand, conjured a piece of parchment, ink and a quill from no where. He set to writing, wondering how he could convey his emotions into a formal, appropriate, McGonagall-approved letter.

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I'm glad to hear you're well. That Hermione sure knows her Muggle remedies. Remind me to thank her for keeping you so healthy next time I see her._

_The family is well, thanks. Lily's so excited to return to school; she misses her friends and her favourite Headmistress. She can't wait to see you on Sunday! I can say the same for Albus; you know how he loves learning. Not so much for James, though. He's rather partial to the summer holidays. He spends a lot of time taking care of animals, kind of like his dad. _

_Ginny's also excited to see you. She's at her Mum's now, babysitting a few of the nieces and nephews so the parents can have a day off. I love my kids, but I'm rather glad they're grown. _

_Don't wear yourself out with the Order and school. You know I'm here to help if you need it; only returning the favor from so long ago._

_Looking forward to seeing you Sunday!_

_Take care,_

_Harry_

The letter had been true; he was looking forward to seeing McGonagall again. She had always been a favourite teacher of his, and keeping in touch was good for the both of them. As he rolled the parchment up and tied it to the family owl, he smiled to himself. All was well, and the cat, indeed, came back.


End file.
